Discover Top Posts Tagged with #chotu

Tumblr has gone insaneeee and I'm unable to answer your ask sooo I got youuuu thiss🫲🙂‍↔️🫱

Sada haal vadiya khudiye.. tussi daso kidda haal sab changa si ??

#jao maro creator #chotu

Disabled Characters of the Month: Jan 2025

TV Molly Doran (Slow Horses) - Amputee, Wheelchair User

TV ANIMATION Amaya (The Dragon Prince) - Deaf

FILM Chotu (Dhanak | Rainbow) - Visually impaired

BOOKS Sam Masur (Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow) - Chronic Pain, Mobility Aid User

COMICS/MANGA Todd Rice | Obsidian (DC Comics) - Schizophrenia

VIDEO GAME Otus (Owlboy) - Nonverbal

--------------------

Join me as I celebrate and post about different Disabled Characters throughout the month. Tracking #dcotm

#molly doran #slow horses #amputee #wheelchair user #amaya #the dragon prince #tdp amaya #deaf #chotu #sam masur #tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow #disability #disabled characters #dcotm #dcotm jan 25

★ -April 18, 2023

#salman khan #picture #salman post #chotu #song

Love, life, loss and a cat

This is the story of Chotu. The love of my life. The light of my life. Born 17 Feb, 2012, she was 9 years, 4 months and 4 days old when she left this world on 21 June, 2021.

Chotu, as her name appropriately captures, was a small cat. She died of chronic kidney disease—apparently common in senior cats. We checked the size of her kidneys. They had become a little chotu too, just like her.

Slipping in

We didn’t adopt Chotu. She adopted us. People use this “we were adopted by insert pet’s name here” phrase quite often. But when I say it, I mean it quite literally. We didn’t pick her from a shelter or from the street. She was born in my building. Third floor. Much to the neighbours’ aghast. This is also how I know the exact date of her birth and also have a picture of her before she even opened her eyes for the first time.

Her mom, again appropriately named Motu, was a clever cat. She knew I had an affinity for cats, but others in my family (especially mom), not so much. I’d play with her. She’d scratch me at times. It was good.

Motu and I shared a secret. It was her secret, actually. I’d sleep late in the night, which is why she had to let me in on it.

We’d play during the day. Outside. But at night, when I was “studying” or doing whatever the hell I was, she’d slip into the house and below the table. And sleep a good night’s sleep. Before any of us woke up, she’d be gone.

This was good. This worked. For quite some time. But then, to her annoyance, she gave birth to Chotu. For a month or so, she was busy with her motherly duties and did away with the space of our home. But then she was back. With Chotu. I don’t remember how long this worked for Motu, but it wouldn’t be long before Chotu blew her secret. They were caught. By mom. You don’t want to be caught by mom.

There was hell. They were forbidden from coming in. The windows were to be shut. But, well, I was the one who stayed up. The authorities can make whatever the hell rules they like, it’s the men on the ground that implements them. I was the man on the ground. The cats kept coming in.

Until they were caught again. This time it was serious. Mom was not okay. Motu took the hint and stopped coming in. We settled on Chotu to be allowed in at night. I have no memory of how this happened. I don’t think I’d be able to convince mom to do this today. But Chotu always had an allure. Motu was cleverer. Sharper. But Chotu had the allure.

And that’s how Chotu adopted us. By being naive, not taking the hint, and continuing to come in where she wasn’t wanted (at least by the matriarch).

Acceptance

If you’ve got a pet, the essential thing to do is to get them neutered so that they can’t reproduce. If you don’t, one cat can become 10 in less than a year. And 10 cats can become 100 in two. It’s a no-brainer. Pet and stray animals alike must be neutered. It’s the only and most effective way to avoid suffering and death.

But to convince someone hell bent against neutering is impossible. Here again I was at loggerheads with mom. She didn’t want me to get Chotu (or any animal) operated upon.

But this was a non-negotiable for me. And she supposedly didn’t even care about her. Why would she care about this now? I was the decision maker. I called up a local NGO, didn’t tell anyone else, and off Chotu went. I told them only after she’d gone. Mom wasn’t happy. But it was okay—Chotu was to be back in a week.

But she didn’t turn up. I called them up. She’d apparently removed her stitches and had to be kept for longer. I called them up again after a week. Chotu was pulling out the stitches and not letting the incision heal, they said. And then again after a week.

Mom says she really enjoyed her motherhood. She always wanted to be a mother. I’ll never understand why. This is probably why she cried when Chotu wasn’t brought back. The thought of a disappearing motherhood along with fearing the worst. In her mind, she had assumed that the operation had failed, Chotu was gone, and they weren’t telling me. I had never for a second thought along those lines. But now I did. I cried too.

And then they called. Chotu’s incision had healed and they were bringing her back. We weren’t home, we’d all gone to Churchgate with the extended family for lunch. It goes without saying, I didn’t care about the lunch. I only wanted to get home.

Our neighbour Edith aunty collected Chotu. The first time I saw her it was magical. She sat on the window, quiet, in her classic rabbit-like poise. She had lost some weight, but it didn’t matter. A part of her ear was missing, but it didn’t matter. She was back, in full heart and soul. And she would never go away.

We brought her home. And it was then that I knew. Chotu was ours. And we were hers.

There were so many little things leading up to this moment that could alter what happened. And I don’t even mean the operation itself. Today most NGOs charge a fair amount for neutering surgeries. They’re a pricey procedure even at NGOs! I don’t know if I would’ve been able to pay to get her neutered. Whoever knows what would’ve happened then.

Cat things

Motu was a sharp and clever cat. I’ve said it before. Like a good mom, she once caught a pigeon for Chotu and herself to feast on. Chotu was intrigued. She was fascinated. I was seeing her from the window. She pawed the dead pigeon. A pigeon is a light, feathery animal. If you paw the body, it’s going to move. We know that. Chotu didn’t. That momentary movement and flutter of the dead pigeon absolutely terrified her. I knew then that she was a cat but not really.

She did a number of cat things. She loved climbing heights. Trees, cupboards, even doors.

Chotu also loved chasing pieces of thread. At least in her young years. A classic move that we played was to first entice her with a long rope, get her full attention, then turn it around her in circles a good few times. She’d spin! And be dizzy after that. She must’ve caught on, or just lost interest in threads, because we didn’t do this too many times. It’s one of our golden memories of her antics.

When you’ve got a little cat at home, there’s something already inside that’s absolutely terrified. No, no. Not rats. Chotu was no good with rats. It’s the furniture. Cats absolutely destroy furniture and upholstery.

Well, so did Chotu. But we stopped caring about it. We had to. We couldn’t buy her a dedicated scratch stand, our flat was too small for that (also we were on minimal expenses). I was and still am surprised how we just accepted that our furniture would have cat scratches and upholstery loose threads. I’m surprised but so, so happy. I’d much rather have my little girl’s happiness than a smooth sofa cover.

Today, we remember Chotu as a quiet, unfussy cat. Especially in the last few years, she was as undemanding as any cat could be. She’d ask for food, let us know when she wanted to go to the toilet (aka an imli tree in our building, which we’d take her to), and come back on her own. Earlier, she’d just slip in from the windows. As she grew older, she didn’t enjoy slipping in from the windows. Then she began knocking the doors! She would scratch at it, and the first time we were creeped out at the sound of it. But then we were amused and impressed. Every time. We had a cat who was not only ladylike enough to prefer doors over windows, she also knocked.

But she could get loud as hell when she wanted to. She could really scream. She sometimes did, at night. I’ve been awoken a few times. Didi many more times. Partially because I’m a deep sleeper, and also because she would care more than I would in the middle of the night.

MIAAOW MIAAAOW MIAAAAOWW.

It was lovely. Her voice was sweet like honey. Even when she screamed. I know I’m all emotional right now, so you probably won’t take it seriously. But she had the sweetest cat voice there could be. And extremely emotive. We’d know if she was distressed, or pleading, or hungry, or just confused. I can think of her miaowing and just break down.

But most satisfying was her presence. She would sit with us. Sleep with us. She loved our blankets, she loved our tummies. She would enjoy just being there. She loved people. Not so much other cats. She’d rest her chin on our arm and just fall asleep.

Disjoint reflections

Animals do not disappoint. They’re always there. With people, we’re always wary. We know things can go off rails. People mess up all the time. With Chotu, I was all in. She was the love of my life, and I don’t exaggerate when I say that. She was permanent, everything else was temporary. Because I knew she would never disappoint. Our love was infinite.

I sometimes joked that it was only our Chotu miaow that was normal in our household. All us humans were weird and dysfunctional. Chotu kept it all together. She was the only normal person. We would talk to her, smother her, just like a little human. She would have her occasional loud miaows to remind us of her felinity every now and then.

She was a charmer. Everyone that spent the least amount of time with her was smitten. Our house help loved her. Our relatives loved her. An uncle spent a week with her last year because everyone was away. He moved in to our place for a week just for her. He said she would greet him every time he came home. Like no one else had ever done.

One of the few scares that Chotu has given us was back in 2016. The day was Sunday. I was in Hyderabad and had gone for a hike. My friend and I were resting on a rock, when didi called me and told me that Chotu was missing. She was a semi outdoor cat and we never stopped her from stepping out whenever she wanted. She’d gone and not come back.

They searched for hours. They looked on roofs and on trees but couldn’t find her. All I could do was wait with my heart in my mouth. I thought of all the places where she could’ve gone, and somehow it struck me that we must check the neighbour’s house. He was rarely home. She may have slipped in.

Before I could call my sister and ask her to check, I got a call. It was her. Chotu was in the neighbour's house. The curious cat must’ve gone in and not known how to come back out. But she did know how to scream, nice and loud. I was so relieved.

Towards the end

Chotu was always a long-time picky eater. She ate well as a kitten, but as she grew older, her interest in eating waned.

When she was a kitten, I would bring a small packet of cat food for her and Motu. It would be over in 20 seconds flat. For some time after she was back from sterilisation, and we were in the process of “adopting” her, we still had no food for her. As vegetarians, we had little in common diet wise with Chotu. Which is why her food messiah was Edith. We’d give her some rice and she’d mix it with fish and that would be her food, twice a day.

One of the fondest memories I have of Chotu is of her screaming her lungs out when she heard Edith outside our door. Her voice was enough. So was the sound of her door grill. Chotu would be off! She’d meow like mad and insist on going out to eat. Edith would give her food and Chotu would come back home. Of course, we started giving her cat food later on.

While Chotu did have one phase of being a heavy cat, she was a lean cat for most of her life. She didn’t eat a whole lot, and we often had to really encourage her to eat. Beyond her first year as a kitten, she was always ladylike around food. We would never be worried about her helping herself with any of our food lying open and uncovered, ever.

When Chotu first began eating less, a couple of months ago, we weren’t particularly worried. She also had teeth problems, it was just something that we had to live with. For about a month, her diet was affected. She ate well for two days, and then not so much again. She ate for a week, and then again stopped eating entirely. She lost weight.

That first trip to the vet constituted nervousness and hope. The vet’s initial assessment was that her teeth were paining way too much, which is why she couldn’t eat. Her haemoglobin was low, too. Her teeth would need to be extracted, but her haemoglobin was low, which meant that the procedure would carry an increased risk. She gave us painkillers for Chotu.

It took three people to feed Chotu the painkiller. Mom held her. Didi spoke to her and petted her. I shot the syringe into her mouth. It took about an hour. But that night, she ate like she was a kitten. The feeling was glorious. The entire week, she ate like it was her first year on earth. My joy was boundless.

In these last weeks, my mood was directly proportional to how much food Chotu ate. The vet soon informed us that it wasn’t just her teeth but also her kidneys that were off. There’s no cure. We just had to hope.

The next time Chotu stopped eating, we took the call to get her teeth removed. If she wasn’t eating because of her teeth, it would make only sense to do so. She would have to be put under general anaesthesia and there was a risk that she wouldn’t wake up. Her kidneys were too weak. But the girl weathered it through! They extracted 22 teeth. We had to feed her through a tube that went through her nose into her stomach, initially. But in a few days, she ate normally again.

Until she didn’t. She ate for about four days, before again losing all interest in food. This time I knew that this was it. She didn’t eat a single morsel for an entire day, and she would be too weak if she didn’t for another. I took her to the vet to get a tube installed again. That weekend was the last time she ever ate any food through her mouth.

This was not the life we wanted Chotu to live. Feeding her through the time was an acceptable temporary arrangement, but that’s all it was supposed to be. There were a lot of tears and a lot of weeping, but we took the call of hoping that she ate again, but not installing the tube again (it had to be removed after about a week) if she didn’t. We were preparing for her to go.

The end

I like to think that Chotu’s last few days were as comfortable as possible. I’d take her to the park everyday. She’d perch on my shoulder (she loved perching on people’s shoulders, that was her comfort zone) and we’d walk to the park a 30 second walk away. Then we’d just sit there in the grass, with curious people every now and then asking about her tube and showering pity (always annoying).

As non fussy as Chotu was, she was really stubborn about where she sat and slept. If she liked someplace, she’d spend all her time there. And this place kept changing. It would change from chairs to sofa to bedroom to random corner. Around this time, her territory was the general hall area. I missed her sleeping alongside me so much.

I spent the last few nights sleeping on the floor in the hall. The first night, she perched on my leg while I slept. In the morning, she was sleeping next to my leg.

It was Monday. It was about time to remove her tube. I fed her through the tube around noon. Her body rejected it. She vomited it all out. She had also begun drooling her stomach acid. After a couple of hours, I tried feeding her again. She was emaciated. This time, the acid wouldn’t stop.

I knew it was time.

Mom and I bawled while she readied herself to go. We bawled even though we knew that it was coming. Even if we had expected only a few days more with her.

I told Chotu we loved her. We would always love her. I held her paw and pet her in her favourite place below her neck. She stretched her neck in pleasure even while she was dying.

Chotu was the unfussiest of cats. But like I said, once she chose a spot she chose a spot. For her departure, she chose the loneliest, most inaccessible corner of the house, below the granite platform in front of the window, blocked by a potted plant. She’d never even stepped there before until two days ago.

And then she was gone. She breathed a few heavy breaths. I could hear them. She left with her eyes open. I let her know I loved her for the last time.

Just us

The most significant transformation that Chotu brought about was in mom. I remember one fight that we had had when Chotu was just a kitten, pre-sterilisation. Mom was disgusted by the idea of having a cat home and once ended up almost kicking Chotu when she came in her way.

“How could you do this to such a little being?”

“She shouldn’t be here in the first place. Get her out!”

As life does, mom spent the most time with Chotu than any of us. Sis would be at work. I was in Hyderabad. When I was away and mom told me she missed me, I’d ask her to go pet Chotu instead. She really would. Chotu and mom were secret buddies. They hung out together and alone.

When Chotu was first diagnosed with kidney disease, mom cried before any of us. When we took the risk of putting Chotu through surgery to extract her teeth, mom cried before I did. When Chotu was in her last moments, mom was there, crying, and praying.

Chotu was the invisible binder of our house. It didn’t matter if we had an altercation, if Chotu needed something, we had to work with each other to help her get it.

Mom is also probably the fastest to get over Chotu. She has her way of dealing with these things. Didi and I are going to take some more time. She was our little sister.

You know how in some movies, all the dead characters come back to life in the last scene, and they’re all happy and jolly? I’ve been imagining Chotu like that at times. Just laughing and meowing and running. Living life as she did. Oblivious of it all.

If only I could be awoken by her miaowing in the middle of the night again. One last time.

#chotu #cat #life and death #love